A Measure of Trouble (Alex Warren Murder Mysteries Book 2)

by Zach Abrams

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Author note

  Also by Zach Abrams

  An introduction to Source; A Fast-Paced Financial Crime Thriller - the first few pages

  About the Author

  A Measure of Trouble

  Alex Warren Murder Mysteries Book II

  Zach Abrams

  Copyright (C) 2016 Zach Abrams

  Layout design and Copyright (C) 2016 by Creativia

  Published 2016 by Creativia (http://www.creativia.org)

  Cover art by

  http://www.thecovercollection.com/

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

  Contact the author via zachabrams@authorway.net

  or visit http://zachabrams.wix.com/zach-abrams

  To my wife who has supported my efforts and suffered my obsessions while writing.

  Chapter 1

  The paperwork would have to wait. Detective Chief Inspector Alex Warren had honoured his good intentions and arrived early to clear out his trays but it was all for nothing. He'd barely started the task before his plan was interrupted. He replaced the receiver on the rest and sighed audibly.

  He needed to think clearly but he couldn't get the old joke out of his mind, `Man dies in a distillery, his body was a mess, but you should have seen the smile on his face.' This was no time for jokes though. Within the last few minutes, a man had been found lying face down on the floor of the cask room at the Benlochy Distillery. There was collapsed shelving and upset casks lying around him together with broken glass spread over the general area. The description was unusually clear for a reported incident, but the reason was obvious as it came from the security man and he was a retired policeman. Now Alex needed to get himself and his team thirty miles up the road post haste and, ideally, before the blood had time to dry.

  Alex opened the door of his private office and peered across the dimly lit expanse of the open-plan area. Although his view was partly impeded by the baffle screens, he was aware of Detective Constable Donnie McAvoy at the far side of the room and he was the only officer at his desk. Donnie was coming towards the end of his nightshift and his space was the only one with its overhead light switched on; the rest of the office was in darkness. Alex instructed Donnie to alert the `scene of crime' team and to phone round each of the day shift officers to call them in early or to send them straight to the distillery. He considered asking Donnie to work on but then thought better of it. Donnie was only a few months off retirement and he was an old-school type of cop. Alex wasn't confident how safe it would be to leave Donnie alone with one bottle, let alone set him loose in a whisky manufacturing plant. Instead, he would have the support of Sergeant Sanjay Guptar and Constable Philip Morrison. Being Moslem, Sanjay was teetotal, and whilst Phil didn't come close to a life of abstinence, he was dependable. Alex would have preferred to have his other Sergeant, Sandra Mackinnon, but he knew that would be impossible as it was her day off and she already had a full day's activity scheduled flat-hunting. Alex was acutely aware of Sandra's plans as they'd spent most of the previous evening talking about them.

  It had been just a few weeks now, but Alex and Sandra were becoming an item. They were still keen to keep their blossoming relationship a secret, but it was increasingly difficult. Both were ambitious and loved their jobs and they knew it was impractical and contrary to policy for them to be a couple working in the same team.

  Alex donned his scarf and gloves and pulled his Crombie-style wool coat tightly round him before exiting the building and braving the cold spring morning. The sky was already bright and blue with only a light scattering of clouds, but the icy breeze took his breath away.

  Alex walked briskly round the corner to where he'd left his Santa Fe. He removed his coat but kept on the scarf and gloves waiting until the car warmed up. He first turned the ignition then boosted the temperature on the climate control and flicked on the switch for his heated seat.

  Within a couple of minutes, he reached the motorway on-ramp at Charing Cross and already he felt warm and comfortable, his legs and back starting to tingle from the infused heat. Accelerating onto the M8, he turned the thermostat down.

  Although familiar with the area and knowing its location, Alex had never been to the distillery before. Still early morning, most traffic was heading towards the city. Vehicle flow was unimpeded coming out of town, and Alex made steady progress first along the M8 motorway then cutting off along the A80 dual carriageway towards Stirling. His speed had to be curtailed on the narrower country roads. Besides being smaller in size, the surfaces were uneven and he had to manoeuvre around the frequent potholes. Alex had his windscreen wipers on intermittent to clear away the smurry spray thrown up by other vehicles, a result of the remains of the previous night's downpour which hadn't already seeped or drained into the adjacent fields. Even so, he arrived less than forty minutes after receiving the phone call.

  Seeing the buildings in the distance, Alex pulled off the road and snaked his way along the winding avenue, lined with Scots pine trees, and through the tall wrought iron gates. He held up his warrant card as he drove past the security booth then followed the signs for the visitors' parking area, sliding into a space alongside a squad car. He alighted from his vehicle and strode across the cobbled courtyard towards the office reception, his lengthy gait covering the distance in seconds.

  After scanning his identification, a young lady escorted him back out of the building and across a walkway. In front was a large plain wall about sixty feet in length and twenty feet tall, roughcast and freshly painted stark white. On top, a red tiled roof sloped upwards. Towards the rear was a substantial timber entranceway large enough for a commercial vehicle to enter but sunk within the large door was a standard-sized door for pedestrian traffic. Constable Winters was true to his name; his skin had a blue tinge from the cold and he was standing, shivering in the doorway where he'd been stationed to ensure the area was kept secure.

  “Glad to see you, Sir. I've had a hell of a job trying to keep everyone out.” Winters pushed the door open to give Alex access and followed him through. Inside was a large hallway lined with racks, each neatly labelled and holding large barrels spread at regular intervals. The lighting was dim but Alex could clearly see a broken rack about halfway down the room with several barrels lying askew on the ground. A prostrate body was set in their midst, otherwise the room was empty.

  “They all wanted to come and see what's happened and some of the bosses are used to having their own way. I've been manning this door and Bert Ferguson, my partner's trying to keep everyone else together in the board room. Sandy Johnston's been a good help. He's head of sec
urity and he found the body. He was a sergeant in Central constabulary until he retired about eight years ago.”

  “What did you find when you arrived?” Alex enquired.

  “Bert and I arrived at the same time as the ambulance. We were shown to this room and the body was lying there just as it is now.”

  Alex sniffed the air. Although no expert, he enjoyed the occasional dram, and the pungency was unmistakable. To his concern, the smell was emanating from Winters.

  Seeing Alex's expression, Winters quickly explained, “As you can see, some of the barrels had fallen about and one of them split open and was spilling onto the floor. Sandy and I helped to right it. We couldn't let it spread across the floor and maybe destroy some evidence, and besides, it would've been a crime to have good whisky going to waste. See, that's it over by the wall.”

  Alex studied Winters' face to see if he was joking “And you've not touched anything else?”

  “No, Sir, only what I had to. I didn't touch the whisky other than to help move the cask. I never drink spirits, I can't handle it. It goes for my stomach. I'm a beer man,” he added. Judging by the man's girth, Alex had no reason to doubt the veracity of his last statement.

  “What about the body?”

  “He was lying like that when we arrived. Sandy said he'd already checked and he was dead. Even from a distance we could see he was right. His head's bashed and the eyes are unblinking, wide open with that startled look. The ambulance boys had a closer look but knew better than to interfere with anything. They hung about for a while but then had another call and reckoned they would be better trying to look after the living. That's when we spotted the barrel was leaking and Sandy and I righted it, that's why my uniform's reeking. We ushered everyone out of this area and Bert and Sandy are keeping them all in the board room waiting for you to arrive while I've been keeping watch on this door.”

  “Who's all in there?”

  “I can't be sure by now. Sandy had clocked in at seven this morning and he found the body shortly after that. He called in the emergency and we got here before half past. At that time, there were only a couple of other security men and three or four lads from the warehouse and production. But pretty soon all hell broke loose with other workers coming to start their shift. Shirley, the receptionist, arrived and we've let her stay to man the office but everyone else has been kept together. Sandy must have called the owners `cause they arrived all at once and tried to take over but we've managed to hold them back so far.”

  “What about the dead man? Does anyone know who he is?”

  “Yes, did I not say? It's Hector Mathewson. He's one of the owners and the Managing Director of the distillery.”

  “Christ, we'll be swamped by the media the moment this gets out.”

  Alex walked across towards the body but carefully stopped a few feet away. He crouched down for a better look. He took only a few seconds, but with his keen eye and experience it was enough to take it all in. As far as he could tell, Mathewson was aged in his late forties, of fairly average height, but muscularly built with broad athletic shoulders, about five-foot-ten and maybe one hundred and seventy pounds. He had a slim angular face, a powerful jaw with a shadow which fell short of designer stubble. His hair was thin and jet black on the crown with silver showing at the temples and on the re-growth. Alex guessed it had previously been tinted. Gravity had already affected his blood supply and most of his visible skin had a grey pallor. Alex reckoned he'd been dead for several hours. Unable to examine further until the technicians had done their bit, he stood again and walked back to the door.

  He could hear footsteps approaching and, sure enough, the door barged open and he was greeted by the scene of crime team, all clad in white jumpsuits and bootees. As they had no discernable uniform, Alex gazed from face to face looking for Inspector Connors but was disappointed not to recognise him.

  Other than Connors, he didn't know any of them well, but three of the new arrivals looked familiar, all being about the same height and build. The fourth, however, was different. She was an elegant, tall, young lady with long, dark hair, and chiselled features. Her complexion was ebony, contrasting starkly against her jumpsuit. She confidently approached him. “Morning, Chief. Is it okay if we get started now?”

  “Who are you? I don't recognise you. Have we met before?”

  “Only briefly, I was in Inspector Connors' office when you came in to see him last week. My name's Anne Dixon. I only joined the team two weeks ago. I was with the Met up until last month. I applied for a transfer and got the job here. I was delighted to have the chance of working with Inspector Connors; he's well respected on a national scale and it can only help my reputation to be associated with him. The move came about because my partner's a lecturer and was offered a tenured position at Glasgow University.”

  “Welcome to Scotland. What does he lecture?”

  “Biochemistry, we met when we were both undergraduates at Queen Mary University in London, and he's a she.”

  “Sorry, I shouldn't be jumping to conclusions.”

  “Don't worry about it. It happens all the time and we're used to it.”

  “Well, I hope you're thick-skinned. Although times have changed and it's nowhere near as bad as it used to be, you could face a lot of prejudice coming up from London.”

  A startled look came over Anne's face. “You mean because I'm black or because I'm a lesbian?”

  “No, no, neither, the Scots are generally quite tolerant where that's concerned.” Alex replied unable to hide his smirk. “It's because you're English. The moment anyone hears your cultured BBC accent, you could have problems.”

  “Okay, you had me going there,” Anne said and she lightly and playfully punched him on the shoulder. “Now better get started.” She moved forward and pulled up her hood and tucked in her hair.

  “Right, I'll leave you to it. I need to go and take statements and I'll check back with you later. Where's Connors today, anyway?”

  “He has a day's leave to go to funeral. His wife's cousin I think.”

  “Poor sod, as if he doesn't see enough death, he goes to a funeral on his day off.” Alex turned to leave and had PC Winters lead him across to the offices.

  With perfect timing, Sergeant Guptar and Constable Morrison were approaching the reception. They were accompanied by Constable Mary McKenzie, the most recent addition to their squad. They were an unlikely looking trio. Sanjay, the most senior of the three, was also the smallest. Only five-foot-four in height, he wouldn't have met recruitment criterion until fairly recently, but what he lacked in height he compensated for in determination and intellect. His slight frame was crested with short, jet-black hair and he sported studious looking, thick-framed, black spectacles. Phil was nearly ten years older, having joined the police as a replacement career choice after his former employer migrated to Eastern Europe. Seeing them together was like looking at a `Little and Large' contrast but neither having any similarity to the comedy act he recollected from years before. Only slightly smaller than Alex, with a sportsman's physique and a height of six-foot-three, Phil towered over Sanjay. Being moderately tanned, his skin tone was lighter but because of his overgrown schoolboy attitude and sense of humour, you could be forgiven for thinking him the younger of the two. Mary's country upbringing was evident from her wholesome appearance. A little bit taller than Sanjay, she was stocky without being fat and had a pale complexion contrasted by naturally rosy cheeks. She had a pleasant, full round face and shoulder-length, curly locks. Although young and enthusiastic, Mary was daunted at the thought of this being her first murder enquiry.

  “Sanjay, Phil, Mary, you're just in time. We're about to get started interviewing witnesses and anyone who knows what's been happening.”

  “Can I volunteer for any stocktaking duties?” Phil asked. “With the emphasis on the taking, that is.” A broad smile settled on his face.

  “You'd better wipe that grin off before we go in. There's likely to be a lot of shocked and ups
et people we need to talk to, so you can start by adopting a more professional demeanour. I say adopt because I know it couldn't come naturally to you.”

  Phil feigned a hurt expression.

  All five entered the board room and were met by a barrage of questions and demands. Everyone was asking what had happened and wanted to know the details. Alex held up his hands and called for silence. He explained the procedures they would be following. He wanted details of everyone present, their names, addresses and telephone numbers. Everyone on site at the time of the death would be interviewed first, as well as each of the owners, directors and senior managers. Everyone else would follow if and when necessary.

  A short pudgy man came striding forward. He had a spherical head but the almost perfect geometry was spoiled by large protruding ears. His pate was topped by light brown lines of hair which were so sparse they appeared to be drawn onto his balding scalp by biro. The large ears gave the appearance of jug handles and his face was bright crimson in colour with the uneven texture of blotting paper.

  “I want to know exactly what's going on and I insist you keep me up to date with every development. I'll let you use my office for your interviews, but I'll sit in on them.”

  Alex stood to attention, straightened his back and let the man see the full benefit of his muscular frame and six-foot-six of height. He did not turn his head or bend his neck, instead adjusting his eyes to literally look down his nose. With an expression on his face indicating he had just become aware of a nasty and unpleasant smell, he replied, “I don't think you understand that we are investigating a mysterious death. I'm in charge here and I can conduct this enquiry any way I chose. If you insist on getting in my way then I'll have you arrested and held in custody until I get round to speaking to you. And I warn you, I won't be in any hurry.”

  “You can't speak to me like that,” the man blustered. “I'm a director and one of the owners of this business. I'm a local councillor and, besides, the dead man's my brother-in-law.”